


Death

by vickadrops



Category: Original Work
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other, Suicidal Thoughts, it's not very graphic though, please proceed with caution i don't want to get arrested, seriously if you think you will get affected negatively don't read this, this is my first post so have mercy on the flames, well actually-, why am i saying this in the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:42:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25663813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vickadrops/pseuds/vickadrops
Summary: A short poem I wrote while thinking about life at 8:00am.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 4





	Death

She holds her grades in front of her, in the silent solemn classroom. 

  
She sits down,

and thinks about death. 

It would not be the worst way to go out now, accompanied by a field of broken dreams and expectations. Education is hypocritical - wanting her to have enough strength to move forward while having enough strength to continue in life. 

Death is often thought of as something to be feared, something that people hate, something that should be the worst punishment possible to be dealt unto another. 

She was taught so. But is it?

* * *

  
Everything you do is not enough. Was scribbled on the paper haphazardly. She stares at the email; the words "rejected" and "apologise" are miles away from what she can process.

  
She stands up, and thinks about death. 

It is funny, she thinks, how humans are so contradictory - expect someone to be the best, then deny them the fame promised; Only to apologise and claim that it was not their lack of skills that they were not chosen. If not, then what is?

Death is now like a companion to her. She hated it at first, hated that it was following her around. Then she tolerated its presence. Then it became part of her. People treat Death like a heavy subject. As if starting anew would be the worst thing to happen to them. 

  
It's not so bad when you don't even have a past to look back on, is it?

* * *

  
Her mother writhes in her grip of stone. Eyes puffy red, emotions going haywire at the words of her son. Standing near the edge of a bridge, her mother grips the safety bar, her knuckles white. However, she is not letting go. Having seen this situation before, she knows what words of reassurance to whisper in her mother's ears. Knows how to make her hand shake to pretend that she is affected by everything. Knows how to control herself so she doesn't break down - not when someone else needs her. 

She whispers "let's go home, mum", and thinks about death.

Her hands don't stop shaking even after her mother is safely in the shower. She knows that Death himself will later put a hand on her shoulder, and ask why she didn't let go. Even after everything. She cannot reply.

Perhaps she is the hypocritical one in this cruel play. Wanting to get rid of the pain, but not doing so when the opportunity arose. Much like many of my academic endeavours, she thought. She has moved past self-hatred a long time ago. Even now, she can't feel the blood seeping from the cuts on her arm. 

* * *

  
She lies down in bed, and thinks about death. 

Would it be more of a comfort now? A haven? Something to be yearned for?

She knows she's hit rock-bottom when she craves for something that everyone else abhors. Death sits at her bedside, looking at her with an emotion she cannot comprehend. She stares back at him, and does not think.

* * *

  
The evening sky, is, as always, beautiful. A dark background overlaid with buildings and trees - truly, this civilisation is a work of art. 

  
She stares out the window, and thinks about death. 

Would one say that she was suicidal? She would reply, not more than the average person. 

* * *

Her footsteps echo shallowly at 3.30am in the darkness. The stool she carries makes no sound as she carefully places it down next to the window. The key to the window grille is conveniently placed next to the window - not a very smart choice when you think about the suicidal parent in the family. 

She stands on the stool, opens the grille, and steps out on the window balcony. And thinks about death. 

What do people do on their deathbed? From what she's heard, they usually spend their last moments with their loved ones. Funny, she thinks, and scoffs out loud. The only person here is the one she hates the most. Sometimes, people sign a will or confess their sins - fruitless materialistic items and actions meant to soothe the victim in their final hours. To make their transition to Death easier. 

Does she have anything to lose?

Yes. A position in a prestigious high school. Several scholarships that people fight bone, nail and tooth for. A stable family income coupled with overseas trips yearly. Many friends, companions and mentors.

But. Does she really have anything to lose? No. 

On the contrary, she realises, she has _**everything**_ to gain. 

* * *

  
Smiling widely than she ever has in years, she steps forward, and embraces Death.

**Author's Note:**

> hey thanks for reading. if i get enough support or something, maybe ill think of a continuation.


End file.
